


tea for two...

by startswithhope



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camping, F/M, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 20:24:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11767686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startswithhope/pseuds/startswithhope
Summary: “You’ve been camping in a crappy tent next to my really comfortable caravan/motor home and it’s been raining cats and dogs for ages, do you want to come in and have a cup of tea to warm up?”





	tea for two...

Setting her Kindle down on her chest for the third time in ten minutes, she covers her eyes with her palms and tries to shake away the thought that keeps creeping past her well-constructed rules. Rules that don’t allow welcoming strange men into her camper. Rules that don’t care about the flash flood warning that keeps popping up on her phone and definitely don’t care that his tent is at the bottom of a hill. Sure, he’s seemed relatively harmless the few times they’ve crossed paths, twice at the showers and once down at the lake. His smile had been friendly each time, mildly flirtatious and devastatingly sexy, but not smarmy and he’d left her alone. A casual wave is as much as she’d gotten, one that she’d returned without thinking. She’d seen him sitting at his campfire the night before, seemingly transfixed to the flames as if lost in thought, or memories maybe, but that had just been her spinning tales as she’d gazed upon his fire-lit profile. Even after the logs were little more than ash, he’d stayed there, waiting until the last ember floated away on the breeze before turning in for the night. She can admit to herself that there’s something about him that intrigues her, his confidence in his solitude, perhaps, something she knows a bit about herself.

So why is she lying here fighting an urge to save him? Who says he even needs, or wants, to be saved?

Frustration has her shucking the covers from her legs so she can stand and pace up and down the narrow walkway between her bunk and the kitchenette. Each time she passes the small window she pauses for a longer look, the rain pelting the window obscuring the view the faint glow of a lantern illuminating his tent from the inside. Eventually, she just stops and stares, waiting to see if she will see his shadow move past the light. When she does, it’s like a flip gets switched and a decision she doesn’t remember making is already made and she’s shoving her feet into her hiking boots and fumbling her head through the hole of her $3.00 rain poncho.

Her jeans and face are soaked almost immediately after stepping outside. Curses fly from her lips as her boots sink into unseen puddles of mud and she nearly topples down the hill, her hand grabbing a nearby tree catching her fall. By the time she’s reached the side of his tent she’s convinced this was the dumbest idea she’s ever had. It’s only seeing the shadow of him standing and moving to the entrance that stops her from turning around and heading back up the hill.

A dark head of hair emerges from the zipper, one hand shielding eyes she knows are the brightest of blue from the unrelenting rain

“Everything alright, love?” 

Bristling slightly at the endearment, she aims her flashlight pointedly at the puddle overflowing into the opening of his tent.

“You seem to be taking on water there, Captain.”

His chuckle is warm and deep and she barely holds back a smile as he reaches down and attempts to shake some of the water back out onto the grass.

“Aye, I doubt she’s seaworthy, but I’m hoping for the best.”

If she hadn’t already made up her mind as to her intentions, his fucking sexy accent and easy charm would have been danger flags, but she’s past the point of turning back.

“I feel like an asshole letting you stay out here in this. Why don’t you come inside and wait the storm out? I’m not a serial killer, I promise.” 

The man looks at her with wide eyes for a moment before smiling. “Shouldn’t you be worried if I’m a serial killer?” he asks, dragging his hand through his now thoroughly soaked hair. 

_Probably_ , she thinks to herself. “I can take care of myself. Now...come on.” 

She doesn’t wait for him to argue, just turns and makes the slippery climb back up the hill. The beam of his flashlight hitting the ground beside her lets her know he’s following. The empty trash bag she’d tied to the door handle earlier comes in handy as she pulls off her wet boots and socks and shoves them in, motioning for him to do the same from the steps of her camper when he finally catches up. 

“Drop your shoes and socks in here. We can lay them out to dry later.” 

He complies, the feel of his hand brushing hers as he takes the bag triggering nervous butterflies in her gut. It’s a definite risk what she’s doing here, welcoming a strange man into her private space like this, but the gun she has hidden beneath her bunk does make her feel relatively safe. Just inside the door, she crawls out of her poncho and hangs it over the back of the passenger seat to dry. The camper dips slightly as her new companion climbs up the steps and through the door, and it dawns on her that she doesn’t even know his name. 

“Uh...I’m Emma by the way.” 

The man extends a wet hand towards her and she takes it, the callouses along his palm unexpected and slightly rough against her skin. 

“Pleasure, Emma. Killian. Killian Jones. Thanks for coming to my rescue, by the way.” 

“No problem. It’s not a big deal…” she mumbles, suddenly nervous as to what to say next. 

Realizing she’s still clasping his hand, she pulls hers away, wiping the water on her jeans as she steps further into the camper. Oh yeah, her jeans. Looking down, she sees mud and water caking the denim up to her knees. She’s going to need to take these off, but privacy is a bit of an issue at the moment. 

Reading her mind, Killian speaks up. “I can turn around if you want to change out of those. I won’t peek.” 

“Uh, thanks. It’ll just take me a minute.” 

With him turned towards the windshield, Emma lets her eyes roam down the back of him, taking note of the broad shoulders and trim waist, both of which are on full display thanks to his rain-soaked flannel shirt. 

“I’ve probably got a shirt you can wear if you want to get out of that one?” 

“That would be grand, thanks.” His fingers are already working on the buttons of his shirt and she just stands there, transfixed, watching him shrug out of the soaked fabric. Pale skin dotted with freckles cover wiry muscles, rather impressive biceps and dark ink peeking around the curve of his right rib. Unable to make out the tattoo, she almost steps closer before stopping herself, cheeks flushing from her rather voyeuristic behavior. Before she turns around she catches Killian’s eyes in the rearview mirror, his cocked eyebrow letting her know he’s well aware of her...perusal. 

Smiling innocently, she quickly looks away and goes to rummage in her trunk for fresh clothes, finding an old button up pajama top that might fit Killian and a pair of leggings for herself. It feels good to rid herself of her wet jeans and she takes an extra minute or two to wipe down her ankles with her towel, wondering all the while if Killian is sneaking a peek or two from the mirror. It’s not like she could chastise him for it, not after her own behavior. If she pushes her ass out just a little bit more than necessary as she leans over with the towel, well, that’s just a ridiculous thing to do. Finally in her leggings, she clears her throat and holds the pajama top towards Killian’s back, bracing herself for the inevitable front view of the handsome man’s chest. 

“Here you go. It’s the biggest shirt I have.” 

Killian turns and she does her best to keep her eyes up, but his intense eye contact throws her off a bit and she lets her gaze drop. That decision was a mistake as she’s now staring at his chest, taking in the generous amount of dark hair leading down a taut belly into the waistband of boxer shorts. She should have realized his pants would be soaked, too, but she’d been a bit distracted by his upper body to notice. The defined muscles of his abs flex as he works his arms into her shirt and she shifts her gaze to the window, doing her best to focus on the sound of the rain hitting the glass instead of her body’s reaction to this stranger she’s invited into her home. Well, not her home, not that she lives here, but for now, it’s hers and for the first time, ever, she’s not alone. Sure, she’s gone on dates and had one night stands, but she’s never let anyone into her space, not her apartment back in Boston or even the various hotel rooms she’s crashed in while on the job. So, having him here, it’s a lot. This pull of unwelcome attraction in her gut is definitely throwing her off. 

“Just a tad bit too small, love, but it’s better than the alternative.” 

Shifting her attention back to Killian, she somehow manages to keep her tongue inside her mouth as she takes in the dark blue nightshirt hanging open just enough to keep that damn happy trail in full view. 

“Yeah...um, you can hang your clothes over the driver’s seat to dry. I’m going to make some tea. Would you…?”

 “Aye, that would be lovely, Emma. Thanks again.” 

Shrugging off the nicety, she turns to the counter to fill her electric kettle, adding enough water for two mugs of tea. Two mugs. Hmm...does she even have two mugs? After rummaging through the plastic bin of extra supplies in the lower cabinet she finds an old camping mug, metal and dented and full of memories. Happy memories, of campfires and marshmallows as she sipped too strong coffee with Mary Margaret (and later, David, after they fell in love and his warm smile and strong hugs joined their yearly camping trips). They offered to come along this time, but she needed some solitude, and selfishly didn’t want to feel like the third wheel. 

“What kind of tea do you have, love?” Killian questions, startling her out of her reverie. He’s stepped a bit closer, but has smartly not invaded her personal space bubble, a feat rather difficult in her tiny camper. 

“Cinnamon Stick. It’s the only kind I like.” She doesn’t ask if that’s okay, because well, it’s all she has. With him being British or whatever that accent of his is, she’s sure he’s quite the tea connoisseur. 

“Sounds delicious.” He steps past her further into the camper, seemingly taking care not to touch anything without her permission. 

“Mind if I sit?” he asks, pointing towards her bunk, the only option for sitting outside of the front where there clothes are currently dripping onto the worn leather seats. 

“Sure, it’ll just be a few more minutes.” Her voice sounds too high to her own ears and she takes a deep breath, urging herself to relax. She’s not shy around men. Ever. She’ll be damned if she starts acting like a silly schoolgirl now.

“So, Killian, what’s your story?” 

“My story? Don’t really have one.”

Looking over her shoulder with her hand on her hip, she gives him a pointed look, letting him know that she’s not in the mood for evasiveness. 

“Fine, fine… I’m on a bit of an extended sabbatical you could say, I guess. Decided it was time to cut some of the anchors holding me down from my past and seek out new waters.” 

“Holy nautical metaphor, Batman.” 

Killian’s laugh is full of warmth and she smiles to herself, thankful he didn’t bristle at her joking at his expense. Sense of humor,  _check_. Wait, why is she checking things off in her head? 

“Aye, love, that was a bit much, I admit. I’ve had no one to speak to for the better part of three weeks, so my conversation skills may be a bit rusty.” 

“I know the feeling,” she admits, plopping a tea bag in each mug. The spicy waft of cinnamon hits her nose as soon as she pours in the hot water and she takes a deep sniff, comfort seeping into her bones from the familiar scent. 

“That smells heavenly. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had cinnamon tea.” Killian closes his eyes and lets the fragrant steam hit his nose as soon as she passes him his mug and she feels that tug again, this time however, it’s not completely unwelcome. 

Leaning back against the counter, she holds the metal mug gingerly, careful not to burn herself as she waits for the tea to cool. A comfortable silence descends, broken only by the pitter-patter of rain and the occasional gust of wind. After a few minutes, Killian shuffles further towards her pillow, giving her room to sit beside him if she wanted. She does, but she doesn’t move right away, turning back to unplug the kettle and put away the box of tea first. When she does settle herself beside him on the thin mattress, she notices he’s propped her pillow against the side of the camper for her to lean against and she feels stupidly warm at his thoughtfulness. It’s a silly thing, really, such a simple act, but she’s gone a long time without anyone thinking of her needs besides herself. 

She’s lost in thought staring at their bare feet dangling off the bed together when he clears his throat, prompting her to take a swig of her tea in preparation for what will most likely be a question about herself. 

He doesn’t disappoint. 

“Care to share a bit of your story, Emma?”

Plucking at the thin material of her t-shirt, she thinks about that question, wondering if her immediate reaction of “no” she’s poised to give is actually true. Maybe she’s been in this camper too long and the solitude is starting to scramble her brain, but she actually wants to share a bit of herself with Killian, if only just a few details. 

“I like to camp for a few weeks every summer. My job can be really stressful and kinda takes over my life, so I like to unplug and just not be on anyone’s schedule but my own.” 

“Do you mind if I ask what your stressful job is? I don’t want to pry, but I’m definitely interested...in...you, getting to know you better, that is.” 

Giving him a quick look, she receives a cocky smile curving into adorably flushed cheeks. He’s forward, but a bit unsure how’s she’ll respond to that, which is stupid adorable and hot as fuck at the same time. It makes her want to lean over and suck his bottom lip into her mouth just to see how he’d respond. The thought of that has her squirming a bit and she looks away, deciding talking is a better idea than jumping his bones with no escape afterwards. 

“Bail bonds.” 

Killian’s eyes go wide for a moment before he whistles through his teeth, giving her a nod of obvious appreciation at her line of work. 

“Unexpected, but intriguing, love.” 

“Why, because I’m a woman?” she bristles on instinct, accustomed to being challenged for being in a traditionally male job. 

“Woah, no, of course not. I’ve just never met a bounty hunter before, male or female.” 

She doesn’t respond, for one because she doesn’t feel like explaining the difference between a bail bondsperson and a bounty hunter and two, she feels silly for her overreaction. 

“You see, I’ve always paid my bail and never needed a bond,” Killian continues, mentioning his criminal past (or present?) so casually she stiffens in surprise. 

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that before I feel the need to grab my gun.” 

Her eyes are hot on his, making sure he sees the seriousness behind her words and he puts his palm up between them in supplication. His smile never falters, though, giving her a closer view of that quiet confidence she’d sensed before from afar. 

“Nothing serious, Emma, just a bit of petty theft when I was a younger lad, thought myself a bit of a pirate for a while there before I got tired of sleeping on concrete in filthy drunk tanks.” 

“And now?” she questions, hoping he has a good answer that will let her lower her hackles and get back to the unexpected comfort she had felt with him being here. 

“Now, I’m a travel writer. I write freelance for various city and county tourism bureaus, expounding on the various camping and hiking locales for their websites. It’s quite the glamorous life, as you can imagine. And...has proved a good excuse for my extended hiatus from real life.” 

The tension she’d been holding inside comes out on a shaky laugh and she relaxes her shoulders, turning her gaze away from him to stare down at her now empty mug. That last bit sounded like something he might not have normally admitted to, but he’s chosen to share it with her for some reason. 

“You’d think you’d be better at keeping track of the weather if this is your job,” she chides, hoping to hear that laugh of his again. 

His chuckle has a sarcastic edge to it and she crinkles her nose at him, catching his gaze and maintaining contact this time without looking away as he responds. 

“Aye, but I was hoping to eventually run into the lovely owner of the camper up the hill one more time before packing up and decided to ride this storm out. I’d say that the gamble proved to be a wise one.” 

“You’re just lucky I took pity on you. I didn’t want to be a witness to a drowning is all.” 

She’s smiling at him now and he’s smiling back, the air between them crackling with a different kind of tension now, one seeped in flirtation and ripe with possibility. It’s not a foreign thing to her, with most of her sexual interactions in the form of one-night stands, but something about this moment feels different. It’s the connection, not just attraction, something a bit deeper she can’t help but feel could be there if she were to dig just a bit further. The fact that she’s not adverse to the idea has her hackles rising again, but she tamps them down. 

Reaching for his mug, she lets her fingers brush his as she pulls it from his hand, dropping it on the counter with hers before scooting back onto the mattress. They both seem to have angled closer as her shoulder comes to rest against his and she suddenly feels like a teenager waiting for her first kiss from her crush. The heat she feels radiating between her legs and the tightening of her nipples beneath her t-shirt remind her that she is, in fact, a grown woman, who knows perfectly well how to make the first move. 

Turning towards him, she curls her fingers into the navy cotton of the nightshirt, pulling at the material slightly to reveal a bit more of his chest. 

“What’s your tattoo?” she drawls, letting her eyes move from his down to his lips briefly before focusing on the skin she’s just revealed. 

His far hand comes to rest on her wrist, urging her to push the shirt fully open and guiding her hand towards his ribs. 

“A reminder.”

She’s too close and the angle is wrong for her to be able read clearly the words inked into his skin, but she traces them anyway with her fingertips, the warmth of his skin drawing her in closer until her knee is resting on his thigh and she’s mere seconds away from crawling into his lap. 

“A reminder of what?” 

His eyes are slightly unfocused as she lifts her chin to meet them and his hand slides up her forearm, gripping her bicep lightly as if to tell her, ask her, not to move away. 

“To fight for what I want,” he breathes, his voice low and thready as his gaze falls hopefully to her lips. 

Knowing what  _she_  wants, she closes the distance between them and finds his mouth, kissing him tentatively until his hand loosens its grip on her arm to curl around her neck. Taking that as an invitation, she does climb into his lap now, angling her mouth over his hungrily as his head falls against the back of the camper and he groans deep in his throat. The primal sound is so fucking hot that she sets out a personal goal to hear it again. Digging her hands into the back of his hair, she swipes her tongue into his mouth, tasting the wet heat of him as his hands slide down her back and dive up beneath her shirt. 

“Fuck, Emma, you…” 

She doesn’t let him finish, too intent on kissing to have any type of conversation at the moment. He catches on quick and gives her bottom lip a gentle nibble, soothing it immediately with his tongue. Smiling against his lips, she leans in closer, shivering as her oversensitive breasts press into his chest. She wants to get naked with his man, feel that chest hair against her nipples and his long fingers between her thighs. Yes, she noticed his hands earlier, including the jagged scar running along his left wrist down and over his palm. He’d made no attempt at hiding it and she’d felt it out of bounds to ask. The force of his grip on her hips is noticeably less firm with his scarred hand, but he seems to be doing just fine, especially when he arches up towards her and she can feel his desire for her hardening beneath her ass. 

His lips move to her jaw and she lets go of his hair, leaning her hands back onto the mattress so she can lift her chin and urge him to kiss down further. The sheets between her fingers crumple as he sucks a mark into her throat, his hands now moving beneath the front of her shirt to squeeze her breasts. His fingers are a bit rough, but she loves it, letting him know how much with a low moan and the tightening of her knees around his hips. That has him moving, quickly lifting her shirt over her head and tugging at the straps of her bra, lowering them to her elbows as he stares up at her with raw desire. 

“I’m so fucking glad it started raining,” he pants, his hands moving behind her to unclasp her bra as he begins to press wet kisses into the skin between her breasts. 

“Me too…” 

His teeth closing around her nipple cuts off anything else she was about to say. Letting her head fall back, she arches her back, cursing beneath her breath as he tongues at her relentlessly while kneading her other breast with his scarred palm. The puckered skin is unfamiliar, but warm, his calloused thumb finding her stiff peak and pressing against it with the edge of his nail. 

“Fuck...feels so good….” 

The groan he lets out against her breast is everything, and she seeks out a reward, arranging her hips so she can rock down against his erection now nestled firmly between her ass cheeks. His mouth falters and she repeats the movement, shifting her hands from the mattress to up and around his neck for better leverage. His mouth finds hers again at the first touch of her hands to his skin, hot breath panting against her lips as she grinds down harder into his lap. Her new position has given her a friction point as well, the hard length of him hitting her just right to… 

“Emma, Emma....jesus, wait. Fuck, please tell me you have a condom…” 

Her hips slam to a stop at the question and he physically deflates beneath her. Shit, does she? No. She definitely doesn’t. 

“Uh...no. I wasn’t expecting...you.” she whispers, drawing him back in for a kiss before he lets his body shut down any further. He responds, curling his tongue around hers as she pushes herself up onto her knees. Strong hands fall to her waist as her mouth lifts out of reach and he looks up at her with questioning, passionate eyes. 

“We can’t fuck, but I still want your hands on me.” 

See, she knows how to get what she wants. And yeah, she’s already thought this scenario through and knows she’s not going to be able to kick him out into the rain after she gets off. She still doesn’t want to stop. 

Finding herself on her back beneath him suddenly, she struggles to get his arms out of the too tight shirt as he’s preoccupied with urging her legs open with his hips. His erection slides against her and she abandons her task, instead angling her hands down the back of his boxers to grip hard at his ass, swiping wickedly at the corner of his mouth with her tongue as he gasps in surprise. 

“I think it’s you that wants your hands on me, love.” 

“I’m good with both.” 

They both laugh, which is ridiculously fun, she realizes during intimacy, something she doesn’t remember ever doing before now. He tickles her ribs as he shifts her to her side, but her giggles soon subside as she feels his hands begin to tug her leggings and panties down her hips. Taking over to make things go faster, she kicks them the rest of the way off and he does the same with his boxers, leaving them finally, blissfully, naked. Before she has a chance to move, his hand is between her legs and he’s rolling her onto her back, teasing her sensitive flesh with his fingertips as his mouth finds hers for a breath-stealing kiss. The thick heat of his cock is hard against her thigh, but she’s too lost in sensation to reach for it, her hands finding anchor around his neck as she arches her hips up towards his hand. 

Those long fingers are put to good use, curling deep while he works her clit with his palm, urging her to come with heated words of encouragement licked into the corner of her open mouth. It’s a lot, almost overwhelming, but she lets herself go, chasing the pleasure he’s offering to her until she’s crying out and coming in quick spasms of release. Not waiting until she’s come back to herself completely, she lets go of his neck and draws him over top of her, letting his hard cock slide against her wetness for a brief moment before she’s grasping it beneath her fingers between their bellies.  

“Oh god, tighter...please…” 

Rolling him back onto his side, she quickly arches one leg over his hip, letting him steady their shifting bodies as she pumps his cock harder, faster, tightening her fingers just as he’d begged her to. 

“Emma, I wish I was inside you...fuck....” 

Killian’s draws her in for a kiss with his hand at her neck, his tongue fucking her mouth in such a dirty way she thinks, for a brief second, of shifting her hips and letting him do the same between her legs. His cock pulses between her fingers and she pulls back from his mouth, his breath steamy against her cheek as he comes, making a mess of both of them as he rolls her on top of him in the aftermath. He holds her tight against his still heaving chest, breathing heavily into the crown of her head as she curls her arms beneath his shoulders to hold him just as tight. 

“That was…,” he breathes. 

“A one-time thing,” she finishes, causing his entire body to stiffen beneath her. Laughing into his chest, she gives his shoulder a light pinch before lifting her chin to look up at his stricken expression. 

“Next time, we’re gonna make sure we have a condom.” 

He lets out a deep, relieved breath and leans down as she draws her mouth up and over his for a hard kiss. 

“Just give me a minute to catch my breath and I’ll go buy us a whole bloody box.” 

The breath turns into many which turns into falling asleep in each other’s arms, then waking up the next morning wishing they had remembered to clean up, followed by Emma freaking out enough to send him back to his tent more than a bit confused (and deliciously broody, but she’ll never admit to him how much that turned her on). Feeling silly by dinner time, she plops down next to him at his campfire with a bag a marshmallows and an apologetic smile, thankful that he seemed to get her reasons for pushing him away without having to ask. The night goes quickly from s’mores to making out for a few hours in his tent, finally falling asleep curled up in his ridiculously comfortable sleeping bag. The next morning, she wakes to his laugh, finding him picking her half singed bra out of the fire-pit with one of the sticks they’d used to toast the marshmallows. 

By the end of the week they’ve gone through an entire box of condoms (which Killian bought from the General Store down the road along with a bottle of Captain Morgan) and Killian has written a glowing review of this rather shitty campground from her passenger seat as they drive back towards the city. His beat up Jeep Wrangler is hitched to the back of her camper, which as she’s learned, holds all of his earthly possessions. She can remember a time when her entire life fit into her old Volkswagen bug and another thread of connection begins to weave together between her and this engaging stranger. 

Killian keeps things between them light, coming up with a story he’ll pitch to Boston Magazine, an in depth write up of “Boston’s Hidden Treasures”, as his reason for heading into the city with her. 

Emma, prepares herself for having a visitor...or...whatever you call a man you’ve picked up at a campground and rashly decide to take home with you. 

Regardless of what the hell Killian is, or isn’t, or could be, they’re going to have to stop somewhere on the way to get another coffee mug for her apartment.


End file.
